I stare at my geeky neighbour, still wondering how I managed to get things so wrong.
‘Now, Kirstie,’ he continues, ‘I’m disappointed in your quite frankly antisocial behaviour today. You shoved me out of the way a minute ago and you quite frightened poor Priddy. But, more importantly, my model is nowhere near finished yet. I’ve only completed my house and yours, so you must promise me you won’t breathe a word of this to the neighbours. Like I said, I’m going to have an unveiling ceremony once it’s complete. I think the local paper might be interested, too.’ His eyes bore into mine and I realise he’s waiting for me to agree.
‘No, I mean, yes. Of course, I promise I won’t say a thing.’
‘Would you like to see your house?’ Martin’s eyes glitter.
‘Um…’
He walks over to the opposite end of the table and I reluctantly follow.
‘Now this,’ he begins, ‘is number four, your house. You can see, I’ve faithfully copied the interior as well as the exterior. Here’s Dominic in the lounge…’
I look through the front window and spy a tiny Lego figure that looks uncannily like Dom sitting on the sofa. The layout of the room is spot on, down to the positioning of the coffee table and footstool. I wonder how he managed to make everything so accurate. ‘How did you…’
‘… and this is you upstairs with Daisy in her room,’ he continues, pointing through an upstairs window.
Pinpricks of unease dot my back as I peer through the miniature window to see a Lego version of me sitting on the futon in what appears to be an exact replica of Daisy’s room. In my Lego arms, I’m holding a Lego version of Daisy. How does Martin know what Daisy’s room looks like? I should ask him, but I’m scared to hear the answer.
‘Wait a minute,’ he says, his eyes narrowing, ‘didn’t you say you saw an intruder? We must go upstairs and check.’
I can’t admit my reasons for breaking in here. I can hardly tell him I suspected him of being a child-snatcher. ‘Yes,’ I lie, ‘I thought I saw someone go around the back of your house. But, well, I haven’t been feeling myself lately so I suppose I could have been mistaken. I just thought I’d better come and investigate. I know you would have done the same for me if you’d seen someone hanging around my house. All part of the Neighbourhood Watch service, right?’
‘Yes, absolutely. We must all look out for one another. After all, that’s why I set up the Neighbourhood Watch in the first place. Look, Kirstie, why don’t you go back home and I’ll have a check around, make sure it’s all clear?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, yes. You don’t look well at all. You’ve gone quite green around the gills. Go back home, I insist. Thank you for coming to investigate, dear. Thank you.’
‘Okay.’ I let my shoulders slump. Suddenly I feel quite weak, as though the slightest gust of wind could blow me over.
‘Well,’ he says, his face brightening, ‘there is a silver lining to all this, of course.’
‘There is?’
‘Yes. I now have someone to discuss my model with! It’s been a terrible strain trying to keep it all a secret.’
That’s all I need – hours spent listening to Martin bombard me with details about his creepy model. But in light of what I thought him capable of, I guess listening to him talk about Lego is the least I can do. Something else occurs to me. ‘Where’s your car, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Ah, yes, my car. I was in a traffic collision last week – not my fault, I hasten to add.’
‘That’s awful, are you okay?’ I ask, trying and failing to forget that Martin is creating tiny models of all the neighbours.
‘Mild whiplash. Would you believe the insurers wrote off my car? Apparently it’s cheaper to get a new vehicle than to fix the old one. Terrible state of affairs, very wasteful. Nevertheless, I’m waiting for the cheque to come through from them before I can purchase a new one.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘Yes, well. Nothing I can do about it. Luckily, I have my Lego model to take my mind off the stress of it all. You know, this project is the reason I’ve been so concerned with the building works next door – the vibrations from their drilling have resulted in some of my buildings destabilising. It’s extremely frustrating.’
I nod and give a sympathetic murmur as I turn to leave the basement, running my eyes one last time over the table with the Lego, and the strange doll lying in the cot. It’s then that I notice a large mirror at the end of the room, and next to the mirror, set into the wall, is another door, painted white to match the walls, its silver handle glinting.
‘What’s through there?’ I ask, pointing at the door, a strange ringing starting up in my ears.
‘Boiler room,’ Martin says, his face going blank. At that moment, the room plunges back into darkness as he switches off the light.
I gasp and head for the exit, at the same time wishing I had the courage to go and try that boiler-room door to see if Martin is telling the truth. But my nerves won’t take it. I need to get out of here, back into the fresh air, before I pass out.
I rush past Martin out of the Lego room, trying to quell the resurging panic in my chest, telling myself that Martin is probably telling the truth. He’s building a Lego model, nothing more sinister than that. That other door is probably nothing but a boiler room, like he said. I need to stop imagining things where there is nothing. I need to keep my runaway thoughts in check.
As I race up the stairs, away from my neighbour, a million things fly through my head. I must go home and try to put my thoughts in some kind of order. Because something else is also occurring to me – if it wasn’t Martin’s voice in the baby monitor, and if he wasn’t responsible for that threatening phone call, then who was?
* * *
At last, I’m back in my own quiet garden, slightly shell-shocked and somewhat chastened, with nothing but the sound of birdsong in my ears and the sigh of a warm breeze on my skin. It feels like hours since I was last here, but it can’t have been more than twenty minutes ago. My legs are trembling and my dress is sticking to my back and to my legs. I need to go inside and sit down where it’s cool and quiet. To process everything. I can’t be sure if Martin was telling me the truth when he said the other door leads to the boiler room. He could be lying. The Lego room could be a cover for something more sinister. But, no, I should stop this. I’m doing it again – making wild assumptions without any proof.
I realise I left my back door open – not a smart move. I must really be out of sorts. Now I’ve discovered that Martin may not be responsible for whatever’s going on, I need to be even more on my guard. It could be someone else out there who threatened me on the phone. Someone else who attempted to snatch a baby. After all, didn’t I hear two voices in the monitor that night?
I quickly head inside and turn to close the doors, but as I do so, I feel a prickling sensation snake its way down my back.
I’m not alone. Someone else is in my house.
Thirty-Three
‘Don’t freak out.’
A male voice. He sounds almost as scared as I feel.
I remain where I am, facing the bifold doors, afraid to turn around. ‘What do you want?’ I ask, a tremor in my voice.
‘It’s okay, it’s only me, miss.’
‘Callum?’ I turn around and let out a huge sigh of relief when I see the boy standing by the kitchen table, his hands raised as though in surrender, his puppy-dog eyes brimming with worry. ‘You scared the life out of me,’ I snap. ‘What are you doing in here? You shouldn’t be inside my house.’ I know how ironic that sounds considering my recent actions, but Callum doesn’t know that.
‘Sorry,’ he says, lowering his hands. ‘Didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘So?’ I ask. ‘Have you got an explanation for what you’re doing here? And don’t tell me you’re looking for your football.’